


Ricochet

by MaevesChild



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Awkward Crush, Break Up, Cuddle Porn, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Rebound, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Silverite Wings of Fucking Bullshit.</p><p>When Enfys Lavellan finds out that her lover, Blackwall, isn't what he seems, she saves his life but can't forgive him.  Iron Bull suggests an old fashioned way to get over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelter

It was Iron Bull's idea.

Well, maybe not this exactly but after more than a week of sulking, fretting, lashing out at anyone who had the misfortune of getting too close to her, he dragged Enfys to the Herald's Rest and plied her with honey wine until she finally talked and cried and laughed at the worst of his puns.  Enfys felt too warm and her fingers were swollen but the ache in her chest seemed a little muted.  

Bull had a ribbon tied around one of his horns from one of the tavern girls.  He'd put down dramatically more alcohol than anyone should be able to, and he was loud, boisterous and happy.

"What you need to do, boss," he said, grinning, "is get laid."  He patted her on the back, his big hand spanning across the width of her back.  "You just find someone you like and just fuck that bad taste out of your mouth."

"Bull."  She drew his name out like a full sentence, one that said  _I can't just go screw someone, I'm the damn Inquisitor._

"Come on Lavellan," he said.  "You're pretty and you can kick ass harder than any mage I've ever met; you have great ears and you're a redhead.  I'm sure there's a line."

Enfys chortled.  "You sound like you're coming on to me."

Bull shrugged.  "I would, if it wouldn't piss off Dorian." He cocked his head.  "Didn't expect that, let me tell you."

"I'm glad for you."  Enfys smiled for a moment but it slipped off her face.  She looked down at the bar, at her fingers curled around the half empty glass.  There was a flash of blue and silver armor in her head.  The Silverite Wings of ... _fucking bullshit_.  Sometimes, she felt like she should have left him to rot, not given him to the Wardens. It was almost like a gift, after what he'd done to her.  She felt suddenly sober.  

Bull pulled her against him, tucking her head under his horn.  "I know you are, boss.  But I'm serious.  Lots of people out there.  Lots of good ones that aren't full of shit.  Now, have another drink until it sounds like a good idea."

That's how she ended up outside Cullen's office at three in the morning.

She knew Cullen liked her, or at least it seemed like he did.  He wasn't very subtle but he also never even had a twitch of outward jealousy, never even looked at her cross-eyed, no matter how obnoxious they got.  Everyone knew about them. They did it on a bale of hay in front of an open window, for fuck's sake.  But despite that, Cullen seemed happy for her.  He was too good to be true, really.

_He was probably going to throw her out though.  Who would blame him?_

She didn't bother knocking, just opened the door and shuffled in.  He couldn't say no, if she didn't ask.  It was dark in there, just the dim light of the dying fire to light the room.  Her eyes couldn't adjust fast enough between the bright moonlight and the dark, elf or no.  She bumped hard into the corner of the desk and cursed.  "Fuck."   _Stupid booze._    

She heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn in the loft.  "Who's there?"

"It's just me, " she said, her words a little slurred, a little choked.  She tried to sit up on the desk but it was too tall, too hard to keep her balance and she slid down on to the floor instead, knees bent, head hanging into her hands.

"Inquisitor?" Cullen's voice shifted from aggression to worry.  He was down the ladder before she even had a chance to think about it, kneeling next to her.  "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Enfys looked up at him through the spirals of her hair.  "Only my heart," she muttered.  "I'm so stupid."

He sighed hard enough that she felt his breath brush against her skin.  "You aren't stupid, Inquisitor.  Blackwall...," He corrected himself.  " _Rainier_  fooled us all."

"I thought I loved him," she said.  "And he didn't even exist.  No matter what he says, if he really loved me, he wouldn't have lied to me."

"No, he wouldn't have," Cullen agreed.  He put his hand tentatively on her arm.  "What can I do to help?"

Enfys lifted her head at looked up at him.  He was shirtless, half-dressed in only rumpled drawstring pants, his sandy blonde hair disheveled from sleep.  He was backlit by the fire, so she really couldn't see his face, but she imagined he was probably frowning with a little furrow between his eyebrows.

"You would never lie to me, would you Cullen?" she asked, drunk enough to just say the first thing that popped into her head.  She didn't even call him Commander.

"Of course not, Inquisitor." He was deadly serious.

She turned her face up and leaned in towards him just slightly.  She felt him tense, felt the air around them practically erupt with tension but held fast.  "Cullen?" she asked, feeling her cheeks get hot.  "Have you ever wanted to kiss me?"

Cullen sputtered.  "Have I ever...what?"  

"Wanted to kiss me?  I see you look at me sometimes.  Have you ever...?"

"You're drunk, aren't you?" he said, replying with a question in an effort to avoid his own answer.  He sounded disheartened.

"Yes," she admitted.  "But that's not an answer."

"I...," He sighed hard again.  Frustrated. Embarrassed, maybe.  "Yes."

She felt her heartbeat speed up a little.   _What you need, boss..._   "What about...what about right now?"

Cullen sat back on his heels, taking his hand off her shoulder and running it through his hair instead.  He always did that when he was overwhelmed.  "I won't. You're drunk and you don't...you'll regret it in the morning."  He made a sad sound.  "I will too."

"It's already morning," she said, leaning in towards him again, awkwardly getting up on to her knees.  "I won't regret it."

Cullen shook his head, putting his hands on her arms to stop her from coming closer.  "Please, Inquisitor, don't do this."

"But I thought?" she blurted out.  "Don't you want me?  Am I so contaminated now that you don't..."

He cut her off.  "No, what Rainier did is not your fault.  It doesn't...no."  He shook his head. "No, please don't think that."

"But I-"

"No, you didn't do anything except have a big heart."  His voice sounded thick.

"Then why won't you kiss me?"

Cullen swallowed hard enough for her to hear.  "Because it has nothing to do with me.  You're drunk and you're sad.  I am your friend and I will comfort you, but I...can't."

She made a strangled sound, a sob she tried to swallow and failed.  "I just wanted to be safe, just one thing to not be terrible.  I decide to take a chance, let myself feel something, let someone in and...and he didn't even exist."  She sniffled, leaning in against Cullen's grip.  "The Keeper always told me I had to be careful with my heart. That emotions were trouble for mages, that some day I'd have to make babies and do my duty...but..." She grunted. "Fat lot of good her advice did for any of us.  They're all dead and I wish I was, too often.  Too many people to depend on me.  I can't just fall apart like this."

"Maker Breath, Inquisitor... _Enfys._ "  Cullen's hands moved and he let her closer, folding her into an embrace.   "I wish there was something I could do that would actually help."

"Just don't make me leave," she muttered into his neck.

"Of course not, you're always welcome."  He tightened his arms around her, his cheek against her hair and his voice dropped, low and quiet.  "Always."

 

 ***

 

 Enfys was amazed that her head didn't hurt.  Granted, she hadn't opened her eyes yet and she was debating whether or not that was even a good idea.  She was most certainly not in a bed, and she was definitely not alone.  There was a warm body tangled up with hers, all long legs and the silky skin of an arm under her head like a pillow, pressed against her cheek.  One of those long legs was draped over her, another arm wrapped around her waist.  She heard the gentle rhythm of sleeping breath.  Her hand was numb.

She thought she remembered what had happened.  She remembered the ribbon on Bull's horn was red. She remembered Dorian coming in and trundling him off to bed.  She remembered stumbling out into the courtyard and up all those stairs and...

_Shit._ She slowly opened her eyes.   _Cullen._

His face was resting on her arm, which explained her hand.  His eyes were closed, the thick fringe of his eyelashes resting on the delicate skin under his eyes.  Like this, relaxed, unaware, he looked younger, softer somehow.  That knife edge of pain in his usual expression was gone.

She was almost loathe to wake him.  The moment he realized they'd ended up like this, he was going to be mortified, push her away, call her  _Inquisitor_  and apologize.  But she didn't want him to apologize.  She didn't want him to push her away.  She was stone sober and laying on the floor and at any minute, someone was going to walk in here and find them like this and all she wanted to do was kiss him, even now without the liquid libido.

Cullen was a good man.  He wasn't some dashing Grey Warden Hero, but with the exception of Loghain, clearly she'd never met one.   _Good_  was...well,  _good_.

"Cullen?" she said softly.  She used the hand not trapped under his head, the hand with the anchor quietly sleeping inside to brush against the hair at his temple, and rest against his head.  He smiled faintly and opened his eyes, blinking at her.  His smile disappeared into a conflicted frown.  He blinked a few more times. He had the presence of mind not to immediately jerk away but his arm tensed under her head and his body just slightly leaned away from her.

"Inquisitor."   _Meh, called it._

"Cullen, don't you think we're past 'Inquisitor' when we wake up on the floor curled all around each other like rashvines?" she sighed, wondering if she looked as disappointed as she felt.

"I...as you wish, Enfys."  He started to pull his arm away, but she stopped him, fingers against his shoulder.

"Cullen, wait."

He closed his eyes again.  Sighed like a bellows.  Didn't speak.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," he replied almost too quickly, his eyes snapping open.  "Of course not.  I may be a little angry at myself.  I shouldn't have-"

"Shouldn't have what?"

"I...please, can we not...." He trailed off, looking away, blushing.

Enfys chuckled under her breath.  "Cullen, it's morning.  I'm sober."  He turned his eyes back to her, those pretty eyes all amber-brown and so terrified.  If she didn't know better, she'd think he was half in love with her already.  But that would be foolish wouldn't it?  "Will you still tell me the truth?"

"Of course."

"Have you ever wanted to kiss me?"

He looked coy, his mouth quirking despite his better judgement.  "Already answered that."

"Well, what about now?"

"Are you sure?" he said, suddenly serious again.

She nodded.  "I am."

"It's so soon," Cullen said, that familiar little furrow appearing in his forehead.

"How long am I supposed to take to mourn something that didn't really exist?"  She propped herself up on her elbow.  She clenched her teeth.  "Look if you don't want to-"

He kissed her.  Cullen cut her off by grabbing her, one hand around her upper arm and the other burying into her hair, pulling her back down against him.  He didn't hesitate, his lips moving over hers with more skill than she expected.  

_It was always the quiet ones._

This was the sort of kiss that she could feel to the tips of her toes, the tips of her fingers and elsewhere; it was all encompassing, breathless and passionate.  She hadn't expected he'd put as much passion into a kiss as he did into a battle, but she shouldn't have been surprised.

He didn't pull away, instead just broke contact with her lips, tilting his mouth back but his forehead still against hers.

"I'm sorry I just-"

"Don't apologize for that.  That was wonderful."  She smiled at him.

"That was...perfect."  His voice sounded a little dreamy.  

There was no time for what Iron Bull suggested, but maybe there was a chance for it now.  Even as they untangled from each other and Cullen smiled at her and headed back up into the loft to get dressed; even as she made her way out into the pale morning sun; even then, her mouth tasted a little less bitter. 


	2. Shield

She tried to corner him in the war room but he made an excuse and was gone before she could stop him.

Cullen was avoiding her.  Cordial as ever when he had to, but conveniently disappearing after anything official.  Ever since that one kiss, he went from being her friend to being a cold, distant stranger.

 _This was ridiculous.  Enough already_.  They were both adults, weren't they?  She was certainly no blushing virgin and clearly neither was he.  He didn't learn to kiss like that by accident.

Enfys had enough.  If he didn't want to...well, that was fine.  Maybe not fine.  Maybe she'd go get drunk with Iron Bull again and see if she could find someone else to comfort her, but even so, it wasn't worth losing a friend over.  She  _liked_  Cullen.  They played chess together and she enjoyed talking to him and most of all, she could trust him.  There weren't so many people she could trust anymore.

She found herself wandering the upper courtyard, debating how to handle it, how to fix it when she overheard his voice from inside the armory.  He was angry.  In counterpoint, Cassandra's voice raised in frustration to meet his volume.  That couldn't be good.

Without preamble, she flung the door open and Cullen suddenly went silent.  He looked pained, angry, hopeless for a heartbeat but when he realized it was her, his expression collapsed.  

"We'll discuss this later," he snapped at Cassandra, but it was half-hearted at best.  He walked past Enfys toward the door.  She expected him to just blow past her as he had for days, but he paused a moment beside her and spoke, his words only loud enough for her to hear and thick with regret.

"Forgive me."  And then he was gone.  

Cassandra grunted in annoyance.  "And people say I'm stubborn."

"What was that about?" Enfys asked, glancing back over her shoulder, as if she still might see him there.

"He asked me to find him a replacement."  Cassandra made a dismissive gesture.  "It's not necessary.  I know that the lyrium withdrawl is hurting him, but it has not clouded his judgement.  The mages have made their suffering known, but the Templars never have.  They are always controlled; someone always holding their lyrium leash.  But Cullen is strong.  He is strong enough to let it go.  It anyone can do this, it is him." She shook her head.  "He is fine. But he does not agree."

"Why didn't he come to me?" Enfys felt her heart squeeze.   _Did he no longer trust her?_

"We had an agreement, as you know.  I could assess the danger.  But there is none."  Her face softened a little.  "And he is afraid to disappoint you."

Enfys frowned.  He was avoiding her, but not at all for the reasons she imagined.  "Can we change his mind?"

"If anyone could, it is you."

Enfys practically ran after him.  

She thought what had happened was just about comfort, maybe it was, but that didn't change the sudden dread that settled in around her at the mere thought of Cullen leaving the Inquisition, leaving  _her._ She made a bee-line for his office. charging up the stairs two at a time, her boots rapping against the stones. She opened the door just in time to duck out of the way of a wooden box flung wildly at the door.

"Maker's Breath," Cullen sputtered and stumbled back, his face the embodiment of distress. "I didn't see you, I'm...damn it."  He started around the the corner of his desk towards her.  "I'm sorry, I-" He stumbled, groaning, trying to catch himself on his desk.  She rushed towards him without considering it, tucking her hand under his arm and helping him stand.  

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said in a thin, strangled voice.  "I don't know."  He let out a long, shuddering breath.  "I never meant for this to interfere."

"Cullen, I-"

"I never told you what happened at Ferelden's circle," he said, interrupting her, words suddenly spilling out in a torrent even as he backed away from her touch.  "It was taken over by blood mages, abominations.  The templars,  _my friends,_ were slaughtered.  And I..." He grunted. "Caught the interest of a desire demon.  It saw my infatuation with Surana and twisted it.  Into horrible things.  My worse desires, my worst fears.  It turned the one bright spot in all of that damned place into a horror." He shook his head, turning his face to look mournfully out the window. "It tortured me, tried to break my mind."  He couldn't look at her.  He shoulders shook, the fur shivering against his neck.  "How can you be the same person after that?"  His voice broke at the end.

Enfys was at a loss for what to say.  He'd been honest with her, certainly, but he'd never shared this, this dark, ugly thing.  Her heart ached for him.  He was her friend, the friend she never expected with Templar skills and gruff, careful words.  Before, he was her Commander and maybe he was handsome and that was enough to balm her wounds.  But he was cracking open in front of her.  This changed everything.  She opened her mouth, but before she could form words, he continued.

"But still, I wanted to serve, " he said.  He grunted in dark humor.  "So they sent me to Kirkwall.  I trusted my Knight-Commander and she was mad.  People, innocent people, died in the streets."  He swallowed hard.  "Can't you see why I don't want anything more to do with that life?"

"Of course I can," she said, trying to step closer, but he inched back, the metal of his cuirass scraping against the stone wall.  

"Don't," he snapped.  "You should be questioning what I've done.  I vowed to help the Inquisition.  How can I give less to it than I did to the Chantry?  If I can't keep what vows I kept?" His voice escalated, his face red with anger.  He started to pace, frenetically, his movements erratic.  "But these thoughts, these memories.  They won't leave me."  He stopped short. "I should be taking it!" His voice echoed through the room, his fist smashing into the bookcase beside him with a sickening crack.  She could almost hear his skin split inside the leather of his gauntlets.  His voice dropped to a hoarse, tearful whimper.  "I should be taking it."  

"Cullen."  She said his name again, this time with compassion.  He looked up at her under his knotted brow. "This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition."  She came closer as he struggled to catch his breath, but this time he didn't back away.  "Is this what you want?"

He deflated, his hand dropping back to his side.  "No."  He let her come closer still.  Almost close enough to touch him.  But she hesitated.  Waited.  

"But this has always haunted me.  It almost broke me." He shivered, his posture hunched over, agonized.  "What if I can't endure it?"

"You can," she said, slowly, tentatively reach out towards him.  She set her hand on the cool metal of his armor, over his heart.  "We will help you.  I will help you."

His breath came out in a shaky rattle.  "All right.  I'll...."

"Cullen." She said his name yet again.  He looked at her, struggling.  She could see it in his eyes.  Sometimes, he looked at her and he saw someone else.  She could guess who.  "Cullen, you have memories that are good too, don't you?"

"Of course I do, they just-" he shook his head, "-they just get overshadowed by the nightmares."

She reached down and took his hand and he complied, suddenly docile as a kitten.  She led him back to his chair behind the desk and made him sit, afraid his shaking legs wouldn't hold him.  She leaned back against the heavy desk, his hand still in hers.  Slowly, she started to peel off his glove, checking his hand for damage where he slammed it into the unforgiving wood.  

"Tell me about Siobhan Surana," she asked softly.  "Not the Hero of Ferelden, not after.  Not where the memories are broken."  

He looked up at her questioningly.  She pulled his glove off the rest of the way, his knuckles raw.  There was a small seam on his middle finger where the skin split, a bead of blood welling up.  She brushed her hand over his, a little tickle of magic sealing it whole.  He flinched, just slightly, but didn't pull away.  She wiped at the blood with her fingers until his skin was clean again.

"Tell me about her.  Remind yourself of when magic didn't frighten you." 

He looked up from his hand, still and unmoving in hers.  His fingers flexed so slightly, once.  Then tighter until he was holding her fingers between his.  "It doesn't frighten me," he said, so softly.  "Not much."

"What was she like?" Enfys asked, squeezing his hand in return.

"You don't have to do this."

She smiled on one corner of her mouth.  "You were there for me," she said.  "Let me return the favor."

"All right," he said.  His voice shifted a little.  He made a sound almost like a chuckle.  He looked through her a little, remembering.  His lips curved.  "I was eighteen when I came to the circle, full of righteousness and thinking I was ready to be the best Templar I could, just as I'd been taught.  Cool but fair, detached, vigilant.  But, most importantly, kind.  The Chantry sisters never forgot to remind us to be kind."  He smirked a little.  "And there I was, my first posting, standing guard in the library and she flounced in, sixteen going on thirty, with red hair to her waist, smiling and laughing."  He shook his head.  "I had this idea of what mages were; old men, children, plain mousy women, praying at the chapel.  And there she was, this little ray of sunshine in the middle of all that endless grey stone."  He looked up at Enfys, his eyes focusing on her again.  "You're like that too, you know?  The world was falling apart and you fell out of the sky.  Injured, touched by some foreign magic, threatened at every turn, accused of every wrong but you just stood up and offered to do whatever you could to make things right.  There we were, in a burnt out crater, all black soot and death and the sickly singing of the red lyrium and you were like a bright spot of light in the darkness."  He squeezed her hand again and looked down.  He shifted his hand, sliding his fingers between hers and lifted their intertwined hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles in the same spot she healed his.  

"Cullen."  This time that one word had more meaning, more intent than all the sweet words she knew.  Cullen was a good man; He was.  Despite everything, it was still in there, the little boy who wanted to help Thedas, protect everyone, mages and mundane alike.  

"I think," he said, so quietly, so tentatively.  "I think I loved you from that first moment.  Not like...." He struggled to explain himself.  "I just knew you were something special, even then.  Even if you never saw me, even when you brought Blackwall back and I saw how you were swept up in him.  It didn't matter.  Maybe I could help you and make up for how I failed her, how I broke when Siobhan tried to save me and I was so ungrateful."

"Wait," she said, putting her hand on his face, making him tilt his head back to look at her.  His face was open, vulnerable.  Her heart ached for him; not her body to have him like she thought was all she wanted.  She looked at him and finally saw him, maybe truly for the first time. "You love me?"

"We all do."

"No," she said, squeezing his hand again.  "Do  _you_?"

He swallowed and nodded.  "Yes.  I didn't mean to.  It's why...it's why I didn't want to kiss you.  I wanted it too much.  I wanted...to try again but I was afraid it was going to be Siobhan Surana all over again.  And then it was, you with him, just like Surana with the Grey Warden Templar and the elf.  What am I? Who was I to even...."

"Cullen."  He looked up at her but all she could say was his name.  Her heart was still raw and afraid to be hurt again.  And she was a mage; she'd been told all her life that the human Templars would hurt her and even if Cullen wasn't a Templar anymore, from the first that colored everything.  She tried to protect herself from him.  Whatever else he was, she refused to see it.

But he was trying to put that away too; he was trying to leave that behind, even knowing it might kill him.  A part of her had been afraid he might try to kill her, if she turned the wrong way, made one false move.  She could see that now.  She'd worn it like a shield between them.

Carefully, she set it down.

"Cullen," she said, one more time.  "I'm not her.  You're not him.  It's just us."

"But what does that mean?"

She didn't know.  She really didn't.  All she could do was lean in closer, let her breath brush over his face.  He didn't move, still as stone.  His breath was so shallow, she was afraid for him.  So she kissed him, delicately, just one soft gentle brush of her lips across his.  His hand gripped at her arm. 

"I don't know," she whispered, her lips brushing over his again.  "But we can find out."


	3. Sword

At dusk, Enfys went to see her Red Hart.  That was her excuse as she made her way to the stables, walking like she was underwater.  He was a beautiful animal, and he gave her the impression that his kind was what the elvhen were truly supposed to ride, not the slender backed and flighty halla.  She considered asking Solas, but he was so frequently cryptic, she wasn't sure what answer she would get.  Truly, she loved the halla, but they weren't battle mounts; they weren't warriors like the hart was. 

But he wasn't the warrior she was really there to see.  She had to know.  She had to be certain.  

After Cullen broke apart and she tried to put him back together, he laid his heart out for her to take.  It terrified her.  What happened, here in this fucking stable, it changed her.  She always was brave before and if not with actual love, at least with her affections.  In her clan, she knew she could never bond with any of her clanmates -- she was expected to bring in new blood and make baby mages for the other clans.  So enjoying their attentions, their bodies, it was all a game.

At first, she thought it could be that way with Blackwall.

She fell in love with a ghost instead.

And Cullen.  She couldn't play a game with him.  It wasn't fair.  He wasn't playing.  He was offering her something that was never an option before.  She couldn't go home again; there was no home to go back to.  Whatever life she expected to live didn't exist anymore.  She was the Inquisitor now.  She would decide what to do with her heart.

Cullen was offering her something real.  She wanted it, she wanted him but she was afraid. She needed to know that she could let Blackwall go, all the way.  She may have turned her back, but it still ached inside her chest when she thought about him.  And Cullen...she couldn't do that to him.  She couldn't play with his heart and make him hurt like she hurt.  If she couldn't set down this thing, this mistake?  Then she had to walk away before one of them was wounded in a way that might never heal.

She heard his sword first, the blade scraping along the scabbard, the metal singing as it reverberated in the air.  Then the creak of wood as he sat down in the chair by the fire, the scrape of the whetstone along the edge.  First he'd hone the blade, then polish with oil.  It was always the same.  The memory hurt.

She was in the shadows and the Hart was quiet, nuzzling into her hand.  She stroked her fingers along his velvet nose, through the longer hair between his antlers.  

Blackwall didn't know she was there.  She was afraid to look at him.  

Steeling herself, she turned her head, looking out of the shadows into the warm glow of the fire.  Thom... _he wanted her to still call him Blackwall, even if it was a lie_...he was focused on the blade, carefully running the stone at a precise angle along the length of the sword.  He stopped and looked up, not in her direction but staring blankly into the flames.  He sighed, long and hard, shook his head,  and frowning, returned to his task.

She wondered if he remembered how she'd often join him when he did this, cross legged on a hay bale, watching, talking, laughing and occasionally trying to seduce him into polishing his other sword instead.  She shook her own head, remembering.  The thing between them, once it began, it was more tactile than anything.  They rarely talked about their feelings.  They made love on every horizontal and a few vertical surfaces in the stable, in her quarters, once up on the battlements. They didn't worry about tomorrow.  

Even now, she remembered thinking that it was just about that, just about touching...but it never was.  It was always more, at least for her part.  It just wasn't real.  Enfys took a breath and stepped out of the shadows.  

"Blackwall?"  His head snapped up at the sound of her voice.  His face was impassive, as it often was, but his eyes showed what that heavy beard hid -- that stupidly soft yet wiry beard she found so handsome but now made her so angry.  It was just a mask, no different from the ones those bastards wore at the Winter Palace, the ones he told he he hated when he held her on the balcony, celebrating saving Celene and making their alliances.

"Inquisitor," he said.  His voice was as telling as his eyes.   Sullen, hurt.   _Good._  He knew how she felt then.  "I'm surprised to see you."

She leaned against the doorway, not certain she wanted to come any closer.  "I'm a little surprised to be here."

He made a sort of pained sound.  "I heard a rumor."

"Oh?"

"Soldiers are worse than washerwomen," he chuckled, though it was utterly mirthless.  "They say that...you and the Commander...."  Blackwall shook his head, taking his sword off his lap and leaning it up against the table.  "I suppose it figures.  Cullen, he's so disgusted with me.  He'd do anything to make sure I know it."

Enfys felt her mouth hang open.  She grunted incredulously.  "That's what you think it's about? You?"

Blackwall seemed at a loss for words but she had plenty.

"Do you ever think about how someone other than you might feel?"  Her voice was harsh, snappish.  "What am I saying? Of course you don't, if you did you would have told me.  You wouldn't have lied to me, even after I...ugh."  She swallowed hard.  "You never once thought of what it would do to me.  No matter what you said, you never once loved me.  You just loved how I made  _you_  feel!"

He stood up so quickly he knocked the chair over.  "That's not true.  That's...not true."

She gestured wildly with her hand.  "If you'd thought about how I felt, for even a minute, you would have told me.  All those hours, all those nights together and never once did you think to tell me the truth!"

"That's not true either," he snapped.  He pointed at her.  "I thought about it every one of those minutes, every one of those nights."  He grimaced and his anger deflated as suddenly as it began.  "I knew this is where it would end up.  I knew that If you learned the truth...you're a smart lady. You'd know you didn't want to be with some broken, lying, criminal...."  He turned around, picked up the fallen chair and stood again, his back to her, his fingers flexing on the back of the chair.  "You were so happy.  I just...it was so nice to make someone happy for once.  And for a while, I got to pretend I could be happy too."

He turned around then, his face pale under his tan, his eyes heavy with regret.  "I wanted to be  _Blackwall_  for you because that's the sort of man you deserved."

"If you'd only told me before so much time had passed, before the lie got so big?" Enfys said, standing up, taking a step toward him.  "I think I might have understood."

"I didn't want you to understand," he said, trying to not look away.  "You deserve better.  Even if you didn't believe it at the time."  Then he looked down at the floor, rubbing absently at his ankle with the toe of his boot.  "The Commander...." He looked up.  "Cullen is a better man.  I hope he makes you happy.  Thom Rainier never could."  He sat back down in the chair hard, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. 

There was a long silence.  Enfys couldn't figure out what to do with her hands.  It was true, what she told him when he stood in front of her in shackles.  

_I will always love you, but I can't trust you._

She felt sorry for him too.  And she did love him, even if she didn't want to be with him.  And there it was, the answer she was looking for.

She took a step towards him and then another until she was standing front of him.  She crouched down on the floor and he raised his head, looking at her.  If he was a different man, he might have cried, but he had a long, empty stare from that life where sentiment had no place.

"Blackwall.... _Thom._ " He cringed at his name from her lips.  "You did make me happy for a while.  I won't forget that even if we can't ever go back."

"Maker, Enfys," he muttered, his lips thin as shards.  "I'm so sorry."

"I know."  She put her hand on his arm.  "Did the Grey Wardens decide yet, what they are going to do?"

"Yes," he said.  "I'll go through the Joining as soon as Corypheus is dead, assuming I'm still alive.  They'd do it now, but not everyone....survives.  I'm useless to you if I die before this is finished."

"Oh."  Her heart sank at the possibility.  She didn't want him as her lover, but that didn't mean she wanted him dead.  She went through a lot of trouble to ensure that he wasn't.  "I didn't know.  I only offered you...."

"No, don't.  It was the right thing to do.  Blackwall was taking me to become a Warden.  It's what he would have wanted.  I owe him, too."  

They looked at each other for a moment and she squeezed his arm before standing up again.  She looked down at him, and she could still remember.  She remembered how it felt to touch him, to know that he was waiting for her, arms open.  She remembered what it tasted like to kiss him, but it didn't hurt, not like it had.  That man, her lover, was gone.  He had existed, if only in the space between their two bodies but he was gone now, only a real and broken man left behind.  That man couldn't really love her, even if he wanted to.  He hated himself too much.  She might have been able to love this man too, if she'd met him first, but now it was too late.

"I hope you survive, Thom.  I really do," she said, and she meant it.

"I'm not sure if I do," he replied.  "But if I do, I swear, I will be worthy of the...third chance you've given me.  I swear it."

Enfys nodded.  "Goodbye... _Blackwall_."  He seemed to realize what that really meant, finally saying goodbye to the man he never really was.  His eyes looked hollow, stricken for a moment and then he hung his head in his hands again.  

She did hope he'd find some peace, but she suspected his only redemption would come from service, from saving lives to try to balance the scales for the innocent ones he'd taken and destroyed.  But hopes aside, she didn't know Thom Rainier, former Orlesian Captain.  She didn't know him at all.  And that meant that she didn't love him, even if it still hurt when she turned away.  

She walked out of the stable and didn't look back. 


	4. Succor

She found Cullen on the battlements.  Enfys wondered if she shouldn't just go to her quarters and try to rest, sleep on it, let what happened really sink in, but she was legitimately worried about Cullen.  She'd left him resting and he seemed better, but she knew he was hurting.  The physical pain of the lyrium withdrawal was bad enough on its own, but there was so much more emotional pain she hadn't even known about, bearing down on him.  As more time passed, she knew his body and his mind would fight hard and use whatever they could to drive him back to the lyrium again.  She didn't know if she'd be strong enough to fight that battle, if it was hers.

He was standing with his hands resting on the curtain wall, staring up at the waning moon where it hung low in the sky.  He was out of his armor, just a plain, slightly rumpled linen shirt tucked into his leather pants and he was unarmed; it made him seem almost naked.  It was different in the privacy of his office and his loft, but she wasn't sure she'd seen him anywhere except the Winter Palace without at least a dagger on his belt.  

It looked nice on him, this calm.  She saw his mouth twitch when he heard her footsteps.

"Good evening Inquisitor," he said.  His voice was quiet and even, no longer tense.

"Cullen," she said, using that tone to remind him that they were way beyond titles now.

He chuckled.  "Sorry.  Enfys."

"That's better."  She came to stand beside him, mimicking his stance.  The stones were still warm, despite how late it was, the heat from the daytime sun radiating into her palms.  "You look better."

"Yes," he said.  He smiled again, breathing deep through his nose.  "Yes, I feel much better.  Thank you."

"I'm glad."  

Cullen didn't hesitate, just boldly put his hand on top of hers.  "Thank you, for being there.  For talking sense into me."

"I was glad to be there Cullen."  She turned her head to look at him, but he was still staring out into the sky.  She smiled at his profile, lit faintly in cool shades of grey.  

"Leliana came to talk to me after you left," he said.  His voice shifted a little.  He moved his hand, turning to face her.

"Is something wrong?"

Cullen made a face.  "She certainly thinks so."

"What is it?"  She felt out of the loop today.  She didn't like it.

"She warned me...about you."

Enfys frowned hard.  "What?"

"She's afraid I am going to get hurt."  He cocked his head, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.  "She said that first night you came to see me, you were with Iron Bull in the tavern and...."

"That's true." She pursed her lips.

Cullen grunted.  "She said he told you to find someone to...how did she put that? To  _fuck that bitter taste out of your mouth?_ "

"You know," Enfys said, shaking her head in irritation, her voice razor sharp to hide the sudden sinking feeling in her chest. "I expect Leliana has a little book that lets her know what I eat and how frequently I shit too."

Cullen laughed unexpectedly.  "That's entirely possible."

"Did she happen to mention the part where Bull told me to find someone I liked and trusted? Or the part where I told him it was a stupid idea?" She didn't give Cullen a chance to reply.  "Look, I'm...if you want me to go...."

"No, it's-" He paused, searching for the right word.  "Is that why you came to me that night?"

"I don't know," she said.  She couldn't be less than honest with him.  "I can't say I didn't think about it.  But honestly, you were the only person that came to mind when he told me that there were good people in the world that weren't full of shit."  She shrugged.  "But I'll admit, I hadn't ever really thought about you that way before.  I mean, I noticed you were handsome; I'm not blind, but you always held me at arm's length.  For good reasons, certainly.  I don't even want to start with all the things that should have made you nervous about me; and then Blackwall came swooping into my life like a thundercloud with a sword.  It wasn't until after that, until after he was already a fixture in my life that you even talked to me as a person, not just the Herald of Andraste.  It wasn't until I was already all wrapped up in that before I got a chance to know you at all."  She took a deep breath.  

"I've never been good with women," he admitted, cutting in.  "It's easier when there's no chance of anything except friendship.  It was easy to talk to you when you were with Blackwall." 

"You're doing fine now."

He made a short, painful noise.  "That's because I'm waiting for you to walk away when you find out I can't give you what you want."

"What is it you think I want?"

He looked at her for a long moment, as if he was expecting some wisdom to spell itself out on her face, in the twisting branches of her vallaslin.  "When I was a Templar," he started, "It wasn't uncommon for us to take pleasure with each other.  It wasn't about feelings.  It was just something we did."  He sighed.  "I hated it.  Not that I hate sex; I don't.  It just never felt right.  It never satisfied me.  Afterwards, I always felt worse than before I began.  A few times over the years, there was something more, but it never became anything.  Duty always came first.  The only time it felt like something truly more, something like actual love, was with Siobhan Surana.  And I never touched her."  He looked away from her, back out at the moon.  He looked sad, the corners of his mouth low, his eyes heavy.  "I made a promise to myself when I left Kirkwall that I was going to leave  _all_  of that life behind.  All of it, not just the lyrium.  I use my sword and shield skills, but I never try to disrupt magic, even if I might be able to.  And I promised myself I wouldn't take another woman to bed unless we loved each other, even if that meant being celibate forever."

"Is that why you think I'm here?" she asked.  Maybe in her drunken stupor she'd thought about it, maybe she'd considered only that because she was too afraid of anything else.  But it hurt to think that's all he still saw when he looked at her.  

He said he loved her.  It didn't seem right.

"I don't know," he said, still not looking at her.  "Is it?"

"Of course it isn't," she said, not sure if she was more upset at herself or at him that she had to say it out loud.  "If that's all I wanted, I think I would have found someone easier to tumble into bed than you are."  She laughed, but it was dark, disquiet.  "You're a pain in the ass, Cullen."

He smirked at her.  "You're not the first person to tell me that."

"Look, I don't expect anything from you.  I really don't."  She leaned her hip against the wall and looked up at him.  "I went to see-" She considered what name to use.  "-Thom, just to make sure.  And that...it's dead.  I care about what happens to him, but I don't want him in my life anymore, not like he was.  Being here with you has nothing to do with him at all.  Maybe it did a bit that first night, and you were right not to kiss me.  You  _were_ right.  But it's not why I'm here now."  A stupid, embarrassed smirk crept on to her face.  "I won't lie and tell you I don't want to have you in my bed.  But it's up to you what you want to do with that information."

"I have no idea what to do with that information, or with you," Cullen said.  He snorted.  "I hardly know what to do with myself, except work."

"Cullen," she started, but wasn't entirely sure where she was going with it.  He was looking at her expectantly.  "I like you.  I like to be with you; I like to talk to you and I trust you with my life.  With all our lives, in fact.  And you know, I really liked kissing you and I'd really like to do it again.  And if, for now, that's all you can give me?" She shook her head. 

He reached across the distance between them, cupping her face in his hand.  She closed her eyes and leaned into the warmth of his palm.  Before she could open her eyes again, he brushed the softest, feather light kiss across her lips, his hand shifting down along her neck and sliding into the fine wispy curls of her hair at the base of her skull.

"How's that?" he said, barely a whisper.  

She smiled, but didn't open her eyes.  "That was wonderful."

"Good."  He kissed her again, so faintly, just a flutter of pressure and she wrapped her arms around him.  He buried his face in her hair.  "Do you think-" he asked, but he swallowed mid-sentence, sentence, struggling to continue.  "-that maybe you might...."  He trailed off, unable to continue but his question still hung there in the air, undeniable.

_Do you think that maybe you might love me too, someday?_

Enfys nodded and he made a tiny, unintended noise, tightening his arms around her.  "Yes," she said, saying it aloud to make sure he understood.  "Yes, I think its inevitable, at this point."  She almost chuckled at herself.  

The other day, she was playing Wicked Grace with Varric and he told her she was terrible at bluffing.  He said she had too much heart to hide anything.

Damn him if he wasn't right. 


	5. Solicitude

Cullen went with her to confront Samson, but he was gone.

It was a horror still, red lyrium monstrosities and at the end, a Tranquil, Maddox, dying of poison by his own hand.  Cullen cringed, pale with disgust at the loyalty Samson inspired in these broken creatures, willing to die for his lies.

They burned his body, as was the Andrastian way and left his ashes to blow in the wind of the ruined remains of Dumat's temple.  

After that, they travelled hard, marching toward the mountains and didn't stop until the reached the final stretch where they made camp to rest and prepare for the harsh trek through the snow to Skyhold.  Cullen spoke only when he had to, only to give orders, keep the peace.  Enfys gave him space.  She knew there were enough rumors already without needing to feed them.  Cullen was a private man; she wanted to give him what he needed.

He was hurting; though the activity distracted him from his lyrium urges, seeing what had become of more Templars in such close proximity disturbed him.  She could hardly imagine how he felt, seeing his brothers and sisters, even those he'd never known, transformed into those inhuman things.

It wasn't until the camp was set and night began to creep in around them that she considered talking to him.  She missed him, even though he'd been with her the entire time.  He was closed off, distant, distracted.  She didn't blame him, but it hurt to see him suffering alone. 

Especially now.  

In the Temple, surrounded by death and the glow of red lyrium, she realized that she'd fallen in love with him.  It was morbid and maybe she was broken, but seeing him there, fighting beside her, fighting for what he believed in, trying to right this terrible wrong and seeing him so willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good, she finally saw  _him_.  Not just the handsome former Templar, not the lyrium addict, the chess player, the Commander, but the man.  He was all those things and much more.

She kept the realization to herself, but silently thanked Thom Rainier for making it possible.  If she hadn't taken a chance on him and survived it's failure, if she hadn't fallen, broken apart, Cullen would have never been there to put her back together again.  She might never have seen past her preconceptions, her childhood fears; she might never have let herself feel this.

Even if he hadn't told her he loved her first, this was a man she would have fallen in love with anyway.

The others were sitting around scattered fires.  There was quiet chatter and sporadic laughter that increased as they rested.  They were veterans of horror now.  It was sad to think, but still comforting to see that they could find snippets of joy in these moments.  Cullen didn't join them.  For the longest time, he disappeared into his tent, the officers they travelled with in and out with reports.  One of Leliana's scouts brought word of something, though whatever it was could wait apparently.  Had it been urgent, even in his distress, he would have called for her.

Finally he appeared, but didn't join them.  She watched him, forgetting to listen to Solas's story as Cullen slipped into the shadows between the tents.

"Lethallan?" Solas said and she turned her head back to him.  "Are you listening?"

"I'm sorry," Enfys said, swallowed. "I'm...distracted."  Solas shook his head with a smile.

"It can wait, da'len.  Go after him," he said.  He knew.  He always knew.  "He needs you more than I, at the moment."

Enfys nodded.  "Thank you hahren."  He chuckled.  He always did when she called him that.  

"Away with you."

She took his advice and went after Cullen.  She slipped between the tents, following his footprints in the shallow snow.  She found him standing at the edge of a rise, leaning against a tree with his arms folded across his chest.  He heard her footsteps and glanced over his shoulder.  He didn't greet her, only took a long breath and turned away again.

"I'm frightened," he said without preamble, still looking out over the patchy snow.  The whiteness made the night brighter, enough that she could make out all the new scratches and dents in his armor.  "I could have so easily been one of them, had my life gone differently.  It's terrifying to think that my addiction could have led me there."

"But it didn't," she said as she came and stood next to him.  

"No, but I wonder what might have happened if Cassandra had not recruited me."  He looked over at her, his face heartbreaking in its distress.  "I have so many regrets.  But how much worse could it have been?"

Her stomach felt like it fell to her feet.  She swallowed.  "Do you regret being here?  Not being there to protect them?"   _Did he regret what had almost begun between them? Was he walking away from her?_

Cullen shook his head, though it didn't seem entirely confident.  "No...yes?  It hurts me to think I could have spared some of them from this fate."  He turned to her, his expression steel.  "If we had gone to Therinfal Redoubt, if we'd gone to the Templars to help with the breach, how many more might have been saved?"

Enfys put her hand over her mouth.  She'd searched for the mages first.  She understood what magic could do and she'd been frightened by the idea of all those Templars.  By the time the mages came to Haven, it was too late.  Even if the Templars hadn't marched with Corypheus, they never would have joined the Inquisition when she made the mages their allies.

Of course, he would resent that.  It hurt her to think about it now.  She'd never really given it a thought.

_Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have._

"I'm sorry Cullen," she said.  Her heart was in her throat.  "If I'd known...."

"No."  He shook his head.  "What you did sealed the breach.  I can't say if they would have even have helped us.  They may have been too corrupted before we even found them." He sighed.  "I'm not second guessing you, only myself."

"Don't do this to yourself, please."  Enfys reached out a hand tentatively.  She considered for a moment and then gently set her hand on the bend of his elbow.  "I wish I knew how to help."

Cullen dipped his head, his eyes closed.  "So do I."  But he relaxed a little and untucked his fingers from inside the crook of his arm and put them over hers.  His hands were cold.

She took a step closer.  She wanted to comfort him.  She wanted to tell him but the words didn't come.  

"This isn't your fault," she managed instead.  "Samson led them to this, not you.  And we will find him.  I promise you."

He squeezed her fingers.  They stood in silence.  Enfys wished she was like Cole in that moment; she wished she could find his hurt, find the true source and heal his pain.  But she was just a woman and even if she could pull lightning from the Fade, she had no magic that could soothe this.  All she could do was the thing she already was doing, the thing he still didn't know that had finally blossomed inside of her.

All she could do was love him and hope that was enough.  He needed to know.  

"Cullen." She said his name.  She loved the way just the sound of it sang to her now.  When the song of all that red lyrium was so loud in her head, she just thought his name and it drowned it out.  "I want you to know...I need you to know...."  It was so hard.  It felt impossible to say it. She was afraid this had changed something inside him, afraid that he would shut her out now, so used to bearing all his pain all alone.  

He lifted his head to look at her and met her eyes.  It was too dark to see color, everything in tones of grey and silver and black.  His eyes were just dark spots in the paleness of his face.  His expression was unreadable.

"Cullen."  His name was a benediction.  "I know it doesn't change anything; I know it doesn't fix anything.  But I need you to know."  She swallowed hard.  "I love you."

He blinked and let out a surprised, incredulous gasp of air.  "What?"

"I love you."  It was easier the second time.  It made her feel warm, even as the wet snow soaked through her boots and her toes ached from the cold.  

He could only stare at her.  She stared at him.  She hoped there was enough light for him to see the truth spelled out across her face.

"Do you mean that?" he asked.  "Actually mean it, or are you just trying to comfort me?"

"I'm a terrible liar."  She smiled with half her face.  "I mean it.  I really do."

His mouth opened and he let out a breath that almost sounded like a laughed.  "I can't believe it."

"Believ-" Before she could finish even that word he grabbed her and kissed her.  He pulled her tightly against him, the frost kissed metal on his cuirass biting into her skin.  It hurt but she didn't care.  She clung to him, reveling in the warmth of his breath, his lips chapped from the cold, the rough scratch of his stubble against her face.  He smelled like snow melt and metal and fur.  His lips moved from her mouth, along her cheek, the ridge of her jaw.  He nuzzled against the sensitive shell of her ear.

"Enfys," he muttered.  "I never thought...Maker." His voice was hoarse.  "I want you.  Please."

Her heart beat wildly against her ribs. It felt too big inside her chest.  "Yes." 


	6. Storm

They didn't move for the longest time, just kissing each other, exploring, hands more bold but ultimately thwarted by armor and leather.  Enfys couldn't get close enough to him and he seemed to feel the same.  But her feet felt like blocks of ice and this was exactly the wrong weather to consider getting undressed in.  

Besides, she didn't want to miss anything.  She wanted to make sure he knew just how serious she was.  She didn't want him to second guess how she felt about him for a moment longer.

Even so, it was hard to pull away from him, hard to stop touching him long enough to take his hand and lead him back to camp.  She tried to be inconspicuous, but Solas spotted them and gave her a knowing grin.  She was a thousand times grateful that it was him sitting there and Blackwall was back at Skyhold where it wouldn't look like she was trying to rub this in his face.

This had nothing to do with him.  Nothing at all.

She let the flap of the tent close behind them and as far as she was concerned the entire rest of the world ceased to exist.  It was dark, only the fires lighting through the canvas.  She knew they would need to be quiet, discreet, but there would be plenty of time for everything else later.  Right now, she just wanted to touch him, show him how he made her feel.

Once inside, they just stood fast for a moment, looking at each other.  Cullen looked down at her and she wished she could see his face better, memorize the expression on his face.  She reached up and ran her fingers along his cheeks, her thumb grazing over his lips.  He sighed softly.

"Enfys," he whispered, his voice only loud enough for her to hear.  "Are you sure?"

"I am," she replied, exploring along his jaw, down to the throbbing pulse in his neck.  "Are you?"

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," he admitted.  He struggled.  "I never imagined this would happen.  I thought...I thought it would always be something I shouldn't feel."

"Please don't think that."  She cupped his face between her hands, pulling his face down towards her.  "I don't want this to hurt you anymore."

She kissed him.  Gentle at first and his arms came up around her shoulders, pulling her against him.  She slipped her hands down along his sides and found the buckles of his armor.  She ran her fingers over the leather, over the cold metal buckles.  She wanted to get them off, but she hesitated.  She knew this was important to him.  She knew he'd placed so much on this she was almost was afraid.  

He seemed to sense it and pulled away, looking down at her.  He couldn't find words and only nodded, reaching over and undoing the first buckle himself.  

She grinned.  It didn't have to be so hard, did it?  Maybe it didn't, maybe it could just be the two of them doing this, not a lifetime of baggage along for the ride.  

Taking his cue, she helped him with the rest of the buckles and when he shrugged out of it, turning to set the cuirass, the fur cloak on to the table, she slipped out of her leather overcoat and fiddled with the button on the bottom of her tunic.  Cullen turned back around as he flung off his shirt over his head and grabbed at the hem of her tunic, tugging her toward him.  He carefully unfastened the first button, then the second without hesitation.

Sometimes he surprised her.  

He got through all the buttons and made an inarticulate sound when he discovered she wore nothing else underneath, grabbing her and pulling her tightly against him, skin on skin. He was warm, so warm, but she shivered.  He tilted her face up to look at him.

"I've wanted this for a long time," he said and kissed her.  It was soft, gentle.  He did it again, this time, long and slow and with increasing passion, his hand sliding up the bare skin of her back, fingertips on her spine.

Enfys didn't want to talk anymore.  She only wanted to touch him, but a part of her was still afraid.  She was terrified that she wasn't as good as this felt.  What if she was still just using this, using him to balm her wounds?

It felt so good to be here, to touch him.  But before him, Blackwall was the only human she'd even trusted to touch her.  They were so different, but more alike than her elven lovers before.  How could  she not compare them, even if everything about this was different?

Did she even deserve him, after the way she came to him in the first place, thinking he felt something for her even when she'd never taken the time to consider it before?

Cullen was so good.  Maybe he was the one who deserved better.

He seemed to notice her tension and his hands stopped on the small of her back.  He pulled away to look at he, his frown obvious even in the dim light.

"Enfys?"

She took a shaky breath.  "I'm afraid to...disappoint you."  Was that even the truth?  Probably not.  She didn't even know how to articulate her fear.  She looked up at him through her eyelashes.  She remembered looking at him in the temple of Dumat, his face pained, lit from all directions with the glow of red lyrium.  She remembered his eyes, struggling and angry and sad all at once.  

She remembered how she felt.  She knew she loved him.  Maybe that's what she was really afraid of.  

"There's nothing...you couldn't," Cullen said.  "I love you. Don't be afraid."

It was like he heard her fears, even the ones she couldn't say out loud, that voice in her head that still tried to warn her away.  

He loved her.  She loved him.  It didn't have to be more complicated.  For once, it could just be what it was.

She leaned back into him, kissed him again, reveling in the texture of his skin, in the way he just wrapped himself around her.  She pressed herself as tightly against him as she could, let herself just feel.  Encouraged by her sudden passion, his hands moved again, sliding lower, pressing her hips against his.  She felt the firm ridge of his erection pressing against her.

She wanted him.  Just him.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth, maybe more to remind herself than him.  He made a happy noise and she felt him smile before he moved, so quickly she didn't even realize what he was doing before he scooped her up in his arms, hooking his elbow under her knees and carrying her to the little makeshift bed he'd made in the corner.  It was just a pile of blankets and furs, but he set her down into it reverently.  

"This isn't how I imagined this," he said, leaning over her. "But I don't care.  It's perfect."  He reached to the waist of her leathers, pausing at the ties that held them tight at her waist.  Cullen turned his eyes back up to her face.  "May I?"

There would be no turning back now.  She didn't want to go back but she couldn't talk, only nodded.  Cullen turned his eyes back down, lingering over her body as he did, unlacing with careful fingers.  He pulled off her damp boots and she helped him shimmy off her leathers, dragging her small clothes with them.

It was cold.  Very cold, but she didn't feel a thing.

"Maker, you are so beautiful."  It was almost a prayer.  He kicked off his boots like an afterthought, and laid down beside her, still half dressed.  Her arm curled under his neck and he kissed the length of her throat, the hollow between her collarbones, along the soft curve at the top of her small breasts.  

It was easier now somehow.  Her body prodded her forward, her heart contented by his words.  She reached between them and unfastened the last of his clothes then stopped, her fingers poised at his waist.

He sighed again, breath ragged.  Enfys slipped her fingers lower, trailing along the narrow stripe of surprisingly silky hair on his belly, delving until her fingertips brushed along his erection.  He was so warm, so hard.  He gasped when she wrapped her fingers around him.

Her body felt liquid when she touched him.  This was so different than anything she'd felt before.  Sex was usually something separate from the rest of her feelings.  Even with Blackwall, even after it became more, it never felt like this.

She didn't hesitate anymore.  She grabbed at his pants with wild fingers and he lifted his hips to help her.  She used her hands, her feet even to get at his skin and he chuckled, low in the back of his throat.  She grabbed his shoulders, rolling him on top of her, his weight on her making her feel safe, secure for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Enfys bent her knees, pressing her thighs against his hips and he held himself up on his forearms to look at her.  There was just enough light to see the glimmer of his eyes.  He shifted his weight, moved forward.  She felt the brush of his cock against her, insistent but patient.  Just as he was before, waiting for her. 

"Cullen."  She said his name like her favorite prayer and he moved, slowly achingly sliding inside of her.  He didn't close his eyes, just looked at her with such utter adoration she thought her heart might break.  She pulled him closer to kiss him, her heart pounding from how he made her feel, in her heart and her body.  She pushed her hips up against him and he groaned, starting to move in a slow, languorous rhythm.  

No one had ever made love to her like this, never this intensity, this utter focus.  They struggled to keep quiet.  Her fingernails bit into his shoulder blades; she kissed him to muffle the uncontrollable sound he was wrenching from her as he moved.

He seemed to know just how to move, just how to angle his hips to touch her everywhere at once.  She clung to him. Closer. More.

"Oh Maker," he whispered, his lips moving along her cheek.  He nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot in her ear.  "You feel so amazing."  He pushed hard against her, stilling.  She felt him pulse hard inside of her.  "I can't...it's been so long."

She hushed him with a sound.  "Don't hold back.  Don't hold anything back anymore."  His breath caught in his throat and he moved again, achingly slow stroke of his hips, then becoming more shallow, faster, staccato.  She echoed his movements, lifting her hips up to meet him.

With a ragged gasp, he came undone.  She felt it, wild, powerful pulsing inside of her.  She heard him swallow a groan, his eyes squeezed shut.  He pulled her over the edge with him, again her body mimicking his but this time with ripples inside her, pulling him close to her, wanting him closer still.  He rolled partially on to his side, pulling her with him, breathing hard, his face buried in her neck.   

"I love you," he sighed against her sweat damp skin.  "More than anything." 


	7. Sympathy

Enfys found Samson for Cullen, just as she promised. Then she nearly killed him.

In the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it.  She knew the Inquisition would want to question him, that they could learn from him, but it wasn't practicality that stayed her hand.  It was sympathy.  Samson was a broken man, a man that so easily could have been Cullen.  It terrified her.

So did those strange ancient elves. So did the Well of Sorrows.  

The entire thing was a cock up and she had never before been happier to get away from elven ruins.  Besides, that was the past and no matter what her Keeper had tried to teach her, no matter what Solas said, it was a lost past.  If the gods had ever been real, they were gone now and she was done wasting time asking for their help.  She was sick and tired of the past.  She just wanted to move forward, end this horror.  She wanted to end Corypheus, to heal the sky forever and destroy every last scrap of red lyrium before it hurt anyone else.

She did this herself, all of it, with her companions and advisers and friends.  With Cullen.  She didn't need to pray to gods that weren't listening anyway.

They came back to Skyhold via the eluvian, though it wasn't really a choice.  That meant Skyhold was practically empty, at least in comparison to usual when Enfys stumbled to bed that night alone.

She wanted nothing more than to find Cullen, to crawl into his bed or sleep on the floor with him or where ever he was.  A raven had been sent to tell a small contingent to hurry ahead of the group, her advisers and companions couldn't wait until they could mobilize her surviving troops. She needed them now.  They were to gather up Samson on the way before he recovered, but at this point, she didn't even know if Cullen survived the battle.

She was exhausted yet too tired to sleep and ended up wandering into the garden and into the Fade in a way she definitely did not need.  She chased after Morrigan and her son into the eluvian and her world went even further sideways.

She survived yet another trip into that queasy, uneven world, but she would have been better off not knowing what she discovered.  

_Mythal was real._

Solas was angry at her afterward.  He was angry she didn't drink from the Well but glad at the same time.  Annoyed she spoke to Mythal for some reason he wouldn't share.  Angry that Morrigan had the Well's knowledge and mostly, he was completely useless in making her feel better.

When even her hahren was falling apart, she didn't know where to turn.

She forced herself into her bed, that tall four post monstrosity Josie imported from the Free Marches, pulled the too crisp covers over her head and closed her eyes.  Her heart ached.  She was too exhausted to cry.

Enfys was asleep in moments and for once, she didn't dream.  She thought she was dreaming when she woke up.

She didn't know how long she'd slept, but it felt like ages when she felt the mattress shift beside her. At first, it was just a little dip and she felt her body tip towards the movement.  Then, there was a whole body in there with her, the familiar cold of skin cooled by the mountain air pressing against her cheek.  

She opened her eyes to find Cullen wrapped around her and it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.  With an unintended whimper, she grabbed at him, pulling herself tight against him.  She was over warm, that sleepy heat from being tucked under the covers.  He was cold, even though he'd had the courtesy to take off the metal cuirass, the fabric of his shirt, his skin was icy.

She dragged him under the covers with her before he allowed himself the luxury of shivering against her.   So stoic, when other people were looking, but the more he let her in, the more real live man she found underneath.

Cullen was here and he was alive and by everything good and decent and worth fighting for she loved him even more.

"Cullen."  Her voice was sleep muddled and scratchy, but he didn't seem to care, just tucking himself closer to her.  

"You're all right," he muttered, his face buried in the mess of her hair, wild around her face from sleep.  He was shaking.  "I heard what happened, that you went through the mirror.  I was terrified."

"I bet no one could tell," she chuckled.  "We've gotten pretty good at hiding."

Cullen lifted his head to look at her.  "Leliana knew right away."  He tried to smile, but he struggled to look happy about it.  "At least she's still not...." He stammered a little when she glanced up at him coyly through her pale eyelashes, the tip of her tongue flickering out between her lips,  "...trying to...."  He gave up and kissed her instead.

It was gentle, almost like he was afraid she might evaporate out of his arms.  One hand snaked underneath her and the other buried itself in the tangles of her hair, cradling her head.  Slowly, his skin warmed from her body heat and he stopped shivering, sighing contentedly against her mouth.

Neither of them spoke, just holding one another, trying to eke out a moment of peace amidst the chaos.  Enfys knew Corypheus wasn't done with them.  She knew now that she would have to seek him out.  There were no more plots to foil, no more armies to defeat.  All that was left was the wicked creature who was once a man who desired to be a god.

She didn't believe in gods, not even after Mythal.  Whatever she was, it wasn't a goddess.  Enfys was exhausted, frightened, overwhelmed.  She wanted to run away but she knew if she did not do this, no one else could.

Cullen relaxed against her, drifting into a shallow sleep.  She held him in silence, looking at his face.  Light streamed in through the stained glass windows in shades of pink and gold, brushing over his hair, his windburned skin, his dark eyelashes.  She never expected to feel this way in her life; she never dreamed it would be possible after the anchor, after Blackwall.  But here it was, this utter contentment despite everything.  

She loved him.

Some things were worth fighting for. 

 

***

 

She woke again hours later and reached for Cullen but found only the coldness on her bed.  Enfys jerked awake, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. It was dusk, the last light only a pale grey sheet through the open door to the balcony.  The fireplace was cold.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed made her dizzy.  She swallowed and tried to focus.  Was it a dream? Had he really been there?

Dressing herself seemed immeasurably hard, but she managed it.  The boots were a real pain in the ass.  Once she struggled into them she made her way down the stairs, navigating the piles of building materials.  They'd planned to finish, make a loft for private meetings but other things got in the way.  Death and destruction...things.  She tried not to think about it.   

The hall was quiet.  Varric sat writing at the fireplace, are few hangers-on chatting at the tables and a conspicuously large number of guards.  One stopped her before she got very far.

"Inquisitor."  His voice was clipped, formal.  "Commander Cullen asked that I bring you to see the prisoner when you awoke."

Her stomach flipped.  It was wonderful and horrible. Cullen had really been there. But prisoner could only be one person, the one that seemed to get to Cullen more than any other.  It broke his heart; it drove him further into anger than she'd ever seen.

_Samson._

Nodding her agreement, she followed the guard.  The anxiety that crept up the back of her neck chased the fog away.  This wasn't how she wanted to clear her head.

She hated the cells.  The soldiers called it the dungeon and she hated it.  She wished they didn't need it.  But there had been someone in those cells almost the entire time they'd occupied Skyhold.

Once, Blackwall spent a night there while she tried to compose herself enough to judge him.

She heard Cullen's voice as she made her way down the stairs.  Measured, careful but so angry.  She could hear his anger coursing underneath each word.  Then Samson's voice, gruff, shattered, defiant.  A hand hit the bars and rattled them.  She didn't know which of them did it.

"And who's this?" Samson said as she drew close.  "Ah, the Inquisitor, vanquisher of the evil red Templars, the blessed Herald of fucking Andraste." His voice wasn't angry despite his words.  Sarcastic maybe.  Resigned.

Cullen glared daggers at him.  He turned to her and tried to temper his expression but he couldn't even manage neutral.  "I'm sorry Inquisitor," he said through his clenched teeth.  "You don't need to speak to this filth."

"What's the matter Commander?" Samson used Cullen's title like it was an insult.  "Afraid your lady will see what you really are if she talks to me?  Think she'll finally realize what broken crap we Templars are?"

Cullen snapped his head back to Samson.  "Don't you dare compare us."

"Why not? You were headed the same way I was, except with you it was fear and hatred of mages that was driving you towards the gutter instead of lyrium." Samson snorted.  "At least I was never afraid of 'em. I tried to help 'em, treated 'em like people and for my trouble, Meredith threw me out on the streets."

She expected Cullen to counter his accusation. She knew he had issues, she knew he'd been afraid but she never heard him say he hated mages.  But he didn't disagree, just looked at Samson, his brow gnarled with anger.

"Fuck you Samson," he snapped. 

She didn't see that coming.  "Cullen," she said, trying to ignore the burning in her stomach at Samson's words.  "There's nothing he can say."

Samson chuckled.  "You'd think so, but I know Templars.  I know your Commander.   I know what he is.  He's just one mistake, one slip up away from being just like me."

"And what exactly is that?" She asked him, stepping around Cullen to look through the bars.  Without his armor Samson seemed so much smaller, his skin somehow sallow and tinted red at the same time, darker at his elbows, his wrists, the bend of his neck.  He was just skin stretched and sagging over ropy angular muscles and bone.  He looked like he might come apart at the seams.

He looked up at her, the whites of his eyes tinged red.  "They break us first, then puff us up full of false promises fed with the dust.  They pour it into us until there's nothing left but a husk wielding a sword of empty promises." His voice was thick and choked.  His words tapered off at the end and he cringed, clutching at his concave belly.  He groaned plaintively and couldn't continue.

Enfys swallowed.  This wasn't a man anymore, just a shell, a framework of skin filled with self hatred and shattered dreams. She glanced back at Cullen.  He was healthy and whole despite everything they'd been through.  Despite the lyrium that still gnawed at him, he was still a whole man, not matter how this made him feel. "Has he had lyruim since we captured him?"

Cullen should his head abruptly.  "Why waste it?"

She gave him a scathing look.  "He's dying right in front of us.  Do we need to make it worse?"

Cullen grit his teeth.  She'd never seen him like this.

"Please can you?" she asked, knowing it was hard for him to even handle it.  She reconsidered.  "Can you send Lysette to fetch some?" He didn't reply right away, just looked through her into the darkness of the cell with the most seething hatred.  "Cullen?"  He still ignored her.

" _Commander_ ," she snapped and he turned his eyes, finally seeing her.  "Get Samson some lyrium.  He's going to die, but there's no need to make it more painful.  I won't see him suffer needlessly."

"What about all those he poisoned? What about the men he made suffer?" Cullen spat back at her, his voice rising.  "Why does he deserve any mercy?"

Enfys straightened her shoulders.  She was the Inquisitor and she was going to be damned if he thought he was going to make this decision.  Maybe Samson was a monster, but she wasn't.  This wasn't what the Inquisition she built would stand for.

"Now, Commander." Her voice was ice.  "Tell Lysette to bring two normal doses."  When he didn't move, she added.  "You are dismissed."

He took a sharp, furious breath, but nodded.  Utterly cold.  "Yes Inquisitor."  His words were low, indignant.  Cullen turned on his heel sharply and disappeared up the stairs.  She watched his back until he was lost in the shadows.

Slowly, she turned back to Samson to find him watching her.

He looked like he was working up something sarcastic to say, his mouth twisted in a rictus that looked like it was trying to be a sneer, but then he grimaced again, doubling over again.

"Thank you," he muttered.  "Fuck, it hurts."

"I know," she whispered, remembering Cullen struggling.  He'd been long past the worst of it by then and blue lyrium was nothing like the red, not nearly.  She couldn't even imagine how Samson suffered, what drove him to this.  "Whatever you've done, no one deserves what's been done to you."

He looked up at her again and shook his head.  "It all started because I wanted to let a mage be a person," he said.  "The lyruim took the rest."

"I'm sorry. I really am." She pitied him.  She knew he would have killed her if he could have.  She knew he lied to his men but there was still person in there, broken and twisted as he was.  

She looked up at the sound of Lysette's brisk steps, her armor clicking on the stones.  She had a box in her hands.  Enfys looked back at Samson as she approached.

"You're going to tell Cullen whatever he wants to know," she said.  "And you aren't going to antagonize him any more.  You know the demon he's fighting."

He swallowed hard and nodded.  "Everything I cared about is dead," he muttered.  "I'll tell you everything."

Enfys nodded at Lysette and she set the box on the ground, opening it and passing two narrow lyrium vials to Samson through the bars.  He grabbed them like a starving man and downed them, one after the other.  He licked the rim of one of the vials, shuddering.

He closed his eyes and sat up a little straighter, cricking his neck from side to side.  There was a crystal of red lyrium growing behind his collarbone where it showed through the wide neck of his shirt.  It glittered in the dim light.

"Thank you," he muttered, his eyes still closed.

She couldn't watch.  With a frown she turned away without another word.  Walking seemed hard.  

_I could have so easily been one of them, had my life gone differently._

Cullen's words rang in her head.  She wondered if he'd already forgotten. 


	8. Schism

The guard said Cullen headed back into the hall but it was empty, even Varric having wandered off to bed.  

She stood and stared into the empty room, enormous in its silence.  Enfys was frustrated. She couldn't understand how a man who was as sensitive, as big hearted as Cullen seemed to be could be so harsh. She understood his anger, but not giving Samson lyrium wasn't punishment, it was torture.

Though she'd slept most of the day, she was still exhausted, perhaps even more now.  She slowly made her way across the room, looking at the floor.  The hall always made her feel inadequate. She didn't want to look up and be reminded how small a thing she was.   

She almost walked headlong into Josephine, carrying her clipboard and not looking where she was going either.

"Oh I'm sorry Inquisitor Lavellan," Josie immediately apologized.  "I wasn't...oh are you looking for the Commander?"

Enfys raised her eyebrows.  Everyone knew by now, but Josie was rarely one to comment.  "Yes, in fact."

Josie pursed her lips, shook her head.  "He's in the war room, though I can't say-" she paused, considering her words carefully as she always did.  "He did not seem pleased."

Enfys sighed.  "I'm not surprised."  She'd had to order him to do what she asked. She'd never had to do that before, though she'd always had the right.  "Thank you Josephine."

"Of course Inquisitor." She nodded.  "Good evening." She hurried off in a cloud of order and sweet fig perfume.

The war room.  It was at the end of the hall, past Josie's office, past another section of wall that remained unfinished.  The breeze through the gaps was damp and icy. It smelled like it might snow.

The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it, the hinges silent and new.  Cullen stood behind the table, his leather gloves discarded, his fingers splayed wide across the maps.  He heard her and looked up, his expression still furious.

"What?" he snapped at her, completely unlike anything she had ever heard from his mouth before.  No matter how frustrated he ever was, he was always unfailingly polite. Something like cold sweat prickled on her back.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked, hearing the annoyance in her voice mask the concern she felt.

"What's the matter with me?" he asked, standing up straight, slapping his hand against the table.  "Are you mad? What's the matter? Everything. How could you-?"

"How could I what? Not want to torture a man?"  Enfys grit her teeth.

"He deserves to suffer!" Cullen shouted at her.  "He deserves to die for what he did!"

"He's going to both!" She matched his volume, setting her own hands on the table across from him.  "But there's enough fucking horror to come for him.  I am not going to torture him. I'm better than that." Her voice dropped and she looked down at her hands, swallowing the lump in her throat.  "I thought you were better than that."

Cullen grunted. "It's far from the worst thing I'm capable of."

Enfys looked up at him.  "Was he right? Do you hate mages?" Her face felt hot. Her fingers were frozen.

"What do you want me to say?" His rage was slightly muted, but still there, simmering under the even tone of his words.  "That I hate you? After the Blight, in Kirkwall? I hated everyone, mages included."

"I thought you were leaving that behind you."

"I did!" he snapped, anger flaring again.  "But Samson...he uses..."  He grunted, unable to articulate what he wanted to say. 

"Cullen." She could see his struggle, see his fear and pain underneath his bluster.  

"Don't fucking  _Cullen_  me," he spat at her.  "Where's the justice in giving Samson lyrium?"

"It's not about justice," she said, shaking her head.  "It's about mercy."

"He doesn't deserve mercy!"

"It's not about deserve; it's about who WE are, not who he is or what he's done."  She took a breath.  "Cullen, the red lyrium is going to eat him from the inside out. It's going to tear him apart and we'll have to destroy his body like poison.  Isn't that enough?"

"No! It won't be enough.  It'll never be enough." he shouted.  He turned away from her, his voice dropping low.  "Maker's breath. I'm just so fucking angry."

She was almost afraid of him.  All those old warnings about Templars were screaming at her in the back of her head.  But this was Cullen.  She knew him.  She knew this wasn't who he really was, even if he didn't remember.

"You have every right to be angry," she said.  Steeling herself, she walked around the table closer to him.  He didn't move, but his entire posture screamed 'don't touch' so she stayed back a little.  "But torturing Samson, turning your anger at mages, at me, isn't going to make it any better."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he turned around.  "I'm not angry at you.  I'm angry at  _me_.  I knew Samson, I could've...I should've done something to prevent this."

"No, don't blame yourself for him."  This time she reached out towards him tentatively.  "You aren't responsible for what he's done."

He took her hand reluctantly, rubbing his eyes with the other.  "What if I could have stopped him?"

"Then Corypheus would have found someone else," she said, squeezing his fingers.  

"I know, I just, I thought if he suffered the way I did, without lyrium, somehow he'd understand what he'd done.  He'd know."

Enfys stepped closer.  "He's too far gone for redemption."  She pulled his hand away from his face. It suddenly hit her what inspired this in him.  She knew he still struggled, with his anger, his hate, his addiction.  The nightmares woke him frequently and he'd alternatively cling to her and push her away when they did.  He was afraid he was too close to that broken man in the cell whose only remaining comfort was the thing Cullen still fought against and feared losing himself to all over again.  "But you aren't."

Cullen looked down at her.  "How do you know?"

"I just know.  I believe in you, Cullen."

His lip trembled, just the slightest bit before he grabbed her, pulling her tightly against him.  He was shaking.  "Oh Maker, Enfys I'm sorry."

She shook her head, her face against his chest.  "It's all right.  It's going to be."

"I have to send you to him," he muttered, everything coming out all at once.  He didn't mean Samson, she knew.  He meant Corypheus.  "I have to let you face him and I can't protect you. You have to come back."

"I will," she said, lifting her head to look at him.  "I promise."

He kissed her fiercely, all his earlier anger transformed into passion.  He pushed her back hard against the table, lifting her by her waist until she was perched on the edge of it.  He pressed himself against her, desperate to get closer.  He was wild, sudden, tearing at the neck of her tunic, kissing each tiny exposed piece of flesh as it appeared.

She pushed his fur mantle off his shoulders and it caught on his armor.  He made short work of the buckles, just letting it crash to the floor.  They were both frenetic, frenzied.  She heard the sound of fabric tearing but she didn't care.  He pushed her back further up on to the table and climbed over her, still half dressed but not where it mattered, dragging her pants down off over her hips and without hesitation, pushed himself inside of her.

She wasn't ready and it hurt, but she wanted him; she wanted to give him what comfort she could.  He groaned, whimpered, his face in her neck.  Enfys clung to him, her hands fisted in his shirt.  

"Cullen." It was as if his name was the only word she still knew as he took her hard, the map underneath them, boxes of the markers they used to plan their battles falling to the floor.  A glass broke.  

"I'm sorry," he whispered again as his hips worked against her.  She didn't know what he meant then, or even if he was talking to her.  All she could do was hold him as he tried to battle his demons.

He came suddenly, without warning and it seemed painful. He cried out and tears pricked in her eyes at the heart wrenching sound.  He gathered her up in his arms, half cradling her off the table, one shaking leg on the ground still.  She tried to catch her breath. 

She was afraid she was losing him to himself.


	9. Specters

Enfys insisted he come with her to bed.  After that, after he seemed to crack open, she didn't dare let him leave alone.  Cullen didn't put up much resistance.

She undressed him in the warmth of her quarters and tucked him into bed, curling herself up against him.  He tried to be calm, tried to relax, but he was tense as a bowstring, even after he succumbed to sleep.  It took her a long time to follow him, hyper-vigilant of every tiny twitch, each noise he made in his sleep.  Finally, his breath become slow and relaxed and she finally allowed herself to rest.

The moment didn't last long.

Cullen woke her with his thrashing, his head shaking wildly, strangled half words and agonizing, pained sounds from his lips.  She shook him awake and it first when his eyes opened, it was like he didn't see her.  He looked horrified, jerking back away from her and before she could calm him a wave of energy poured out of him nullifying her mana.  She flung herself back, swallowing hard against the wavering nauseating sensation.

She didn't even know he could do that, that Templars could do that at all, without lyrium.

It was impossible to tell who looked more horrified, Cullen or Enfys.  She instinctively cringed away from him, practically tumbling out of the bed on to the floor.

"Oh Maker," Cullen muttered, reaching out for her and then thinking better of it, tucking his hand under his chest.  "I didn't even know I could still do that."

Enfys was at a loss of how to reply, just trying to catch her breath.  She actually considered going to get a lyrium potion to refresh herself and then realized the sheer idiocy of that.  Lyrium was the very last thing this situation needed.

Cullen sat up and swung his legs out of the bed, hanging his head in his hands.  "I should just go."  That spurred her into action and she crawled across the bed, putting her cheek against his bare back and her arms around his waist.

"Don't," she said quietly, trying to mask how unnerved she still felt. "I know you didn't mean it."

He grunted.  "That hardly makes it better.  Maybe worse.  I can't even control myself."

"Cullen."  His name was practically a mantra at this point.  She resisted the urge to chuckle.  "I think the level of stress of the last few days gives you a pass on this one."

"No, it doesn't." She felt the muscles in his back shift as he shook his head.  "What if...what if I'd really hurt you?"

"But you didn't.  I'll be fine in a little while."  She pressed a soft kiss to the ridge of muscle along his spine.  "You'll get through this."

He put his hand over her forearm where it was wrapped around his belly.  "I'm so sorry."  He sighed and it sounded rough, ragged.  "I love you.  Sometimes I can't even believe how much but when I have those nightmares, it's just, there's abominations and demons and I panic."

"I know." She squeezed him.  "I love you too.  And I understand.  You scared me, but I'm fine now."

Cullen made a sound that was unmistakably a sob and his entire body shivered against her.  All she could do was hold him, try to let him know that she understood.  Slowly, slowly he started to relax, his body sagging until she was supporting him.  She nudged him back, guiding him to lay down again.  She looked down at him, brushing her fingers through his hair tenderly.  He blinked at her, his eyelids heavy.

"Try to sleep," she whispered.

"I don't want to hurt you," he mumbled, struggling against his exhaustion.

"It's all right," she comforted him.  "I'm going to get up for a while.  So just relax.  I'll be back soon, okay?"

Cullen nodded; though she knew her presence usually soothed him, right now, a little space might help.  Besides, she had an idea.  There was someone here, someone she trusted, that knew more about dreams than anyone she'd ever met, even her Keeper.  As Cullen drifted back to sleep, she slipped out of the bed and dressed herself.  She pulled on her boots and watched as Cullen rolled on to his side, curling up into a ball, tangling the covers around him.  

Enfys went to find Solas.

 

***

 

Amazingly, he was awake.  She knew he liked to spend time in the Fade, but apparently he preferred the atypical hours.  That was just like him, though.  Instead, Solas was sketching out another panel on the rotunda wall.  He stepped back, cocking his head and inspecting his work.  She was able to identify the events in the other panels but this one didn't seem to fit anything; a wolf? And a sword? She was too preoccupied to think about it much.

"It looks beautiful, hahren," she said, knowing he heard her, but that he wouldn't turn around until she said something.

Solas turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder.  "It will, in time, da'len."  He smiled, but with a hint of concern on his face.  "It's a strange hour for you to be awake."

Enfys chuckled.  "I could say the same, but you seem to enjoy being strange."

He smiled like a cat.  "Not intentionally, lethallan, but I suppose it is an honest observation.  I assume you didn't seek me out for small talk in the middle of the night however.  Is something wrong?"

"I don't know." She grimaced then admitted it.  "Yes, though it's nothing new."

Solas gestured to the sofa against the wall and followed her as she sat down.  "I can guess," he said as he sat down beside her. "But why don't you tell me."

"It's Cullen," she said.  She was so glad she could trust Solas not to tell anyone what she said.  Cullen would be mortified if the others knew how hard he was struggling.  "Not taking lyrium; it gives him nightmares.  Memories from his past.  He woke up startled from a particularly intense dream and-" She made a pained sound.  "We discovered he can still disrupt mana, even without the lyrium."

Solas raised an eyebrow at her.  "That must have been unsettling."

Enfys snorted a mirthless laugh.  "To say the least."  She shook her head.  "But once the shock was over, mostly I'm worried for him.  He can't go on like this.  And I thought, you know more about the Fade than anyone.  I hoped you might have advice."

"Ah da'len," he said, his cool voice even but sympathetic.  "If he was a mage, I would have advice, but it is different for those without magic.  They do enter the Fade in dreams certainly, but what they see, what they experience, it is of their own making.  Though the spirits watch, even they can't manipulate those dreams."

She sighed hard.  "How can I help him?"

Solas smiled.  "You are," he said.  "That much is plain."

"I feel like he's falling apart."

"He needs to, I think," Solas said.  "He must let himself face these fears before he can move past them."  He looked far away for a moment, as if remembering something painful.  "We all have made mistakes that haunt us.  Only we can decide how to right them again.  For some, there are actions to take, things that can be done in this world to try to make things right again.  But for the Commander, there is nothing that can be done to change what he has seen.  He can only accept."

"I wish there was something I could do, some spell, something," she muttered, leaning back, her shoulders slumped.  

"It is in your nature to act; one of the many reasons the world is lucky to have you.  But all you can do now is wait for him to find his own peace.  This is not a battle you can fight for him."  Solas patted her knee.  "It says much that you wish to; I am sure he can see that."  He paused and almost frowned, his posture, his expression more pensive than usual.  "You are a rare person lethallan.  I am glad to have met you."

She gave him a puzzled look.  "You're talking like one of us is going to die."

He shrugged though it was far from casual.  "We live in dangerous times.  But no, I have faith that you will succeed at your task.  If anyone could, it is you."

"Thank you Solas," she said, leaning forward, her hands on her knees.  "I think I need to go watch over him, even if I can't go into the Fade and help him."

Solas nodded but didn't say anything.  There was a hint of melancholy to his expression, as if he was remembering something he lost.  He glanced back at his painting again.

"Ma serranas, hahren." She stood, brushing her hands over invisible wrinkles in her tunic.  "Dareth shiral."

Solas smiled enigmatically.  "Dareth shiral da'len."  He turned away, focused on the wall again as if she was already gone.

They all seemed to be drifting away from her.  She hoped she could manage to hold on.  


	10. Solace

She didn't go back to bed, not right away.  Enfys knew Cullen needed sleep more than he needed her at the moment.  And maybe, there was some benefit to solitude so he didn't have to try to resist any strange urges brought on by his nightmares.

She looked for Cole first, hoping there was something he could say that might point her in the right direction, but he was nowhere to be found.  Bull was still awake, nursing a bottle of Tevinter red with Dorian in the corner. Dorian gave her a slow, languid, sloshed smile.  She left them be.

The night air was cold, but sitting up on the battlements ultimately cleared her head.  She watched the comings and going in the courtyard from above, even saw Blackwall stumble back into the stable, decidedly not alone.  She only cocked her head and watch him go, his arm hooked over the shoulder of one of the girls from the tavern.

That girl knew who he was, knew he was at best a Grey Warden-to-be and was going anyway.  She was glad for it, honestly.  She never wanted to punish him, at least not once the initial sting of his lies faded. She was glad he was moving on, even if it was only for one night.  It was one less thing to hang on her conscience.

She could feel and hear dawn approaching more than see it.  It was still dark as pitch, but the nighttime sounds shifted, a hush falling over Skyhold like a fog.  Her hands were cold and her nose; her behind was numb from stilling on the stone wall for so long.  

She wasn't content.  She was waiting.  

She knew that soon they would need to redouble their efforts to find Corypheus before he had a chance to strengthen himself again, to find new allies, make new plans.

She wasn't content, but she was determined.  Enfys always did what she had to, she always had, but she wasn't sure she'd done any of it because she wanted to.  Things felt different now.  She didn't feel like a leaf in a sharp wind, just trying not to be torn apart.  

She felt like fighting for the things that were good was finally worth it, that there were things worth saving.

She went back to Cullen.

He was still asleep, but finally relaxed, on his side with the blankets draped over his shoulders.  He didn't stir right away when she made her way towards to bed or as she undressed herself and slid under the covers.  He tensed a little when she touched him; this time her skin was cool and his was warm.  But instead of cringing away, he took her arm where she set it on his waist and pulled her tightly against his back, wriggling his bare backside against her.

Enfys chuckled.  "Feeling better?"

"Mhm," Cullen hummed, voice thick with sleep.  "Much better now.  Sleep helped."

She kissed the back of his neck and he shivered.  "I'm glad."

If he could have pulled her closer, he would have, tightening his arm over hers.  The palm of her hand pressed on the flat plane of his belly, feeling each breath as he took it in a familiar, comforting rhythm.  "You know," he said, a little edge in his voice that wasn't there before.  "Sometimes I'm still surprised you're here."

"Cullen."  Her favorite word, this time used to chastise him.  "Why would you think that?"

"You really don't know, do you?"

"I...apparently not."

"I swear," he laughed a little sadly.  "Half the people in Skyhold are in love with you."

"Not with  _me_ ," she corrected him.  "The Herald of Andraste maybe; the Inquisitor.  Not me."

"True, but only because they don't know you yet," he said.  "Actually, before Blackwall, I was convinced you were going to end up with Solas.  He adores you too, you know."

"Of course he does; he's my hahren," she laughed.  She shook her head against Cullen's back.  "That means ' _elder'_  if you didn't know.  I love Solas too, but he's more like a parent than anything else.  He saved my life, more than once, but...no.  He wouldn't want such a thing, even if I did."

"Ah."  He didn't comment further.

"I don't want to talk about Solas.  Or Blackwall, or this imaginary line of lovers you think are waiting at my door.  Besides," she snorted a smug little giggle.  "I'm not the one getting all the marriage proposals.  You are."

"Ugh Maker, don't remind me."  Enfys laughed.  Half of Orlais thought marrying into the Inquisition was a capital idea and Cullen was, by and far, their favorite target.  She felt him shake his head and laugh.  "I wonder if they'd keep it up if they knew I was frequently in bed naked with the Inquisitor."

She laughed too.  It felt good to laugh.  "They'd probably critique for points and redouble their efforts to catch you."

"I've already been caught, thank you," he said, this time his voice a little lower, both serious and heated.  

"Oh, is that so?" she said, snuggling herself against him tighter, their bare skin touching from feet to shoulders, though admittedly her toes just barely reached his ankles.  She laid her cheek against his back.

"I hope so," he said.  His fingers slid around the palm of her hand and squeezed.  

Enfys sighed musically against his shoulder.  "Me too."

"Good," he said.  "There are perks to that arrangement." She loved his sudden mischievous tone.

"Oh? Are there?"  Her mouth crept into a grin and she kissed his back again, a little too long, arching her head up to reach the sweet curve of muscle where his shoulder flared out from his neck.  He turned his head to give her better access to more of his smooth, warm skin. He groaned slightly and took her hand, sliding it down slowly, her fingers dancing over the ridges of tensed muscle.  The side of her palm brushed against his cock, already hard, radiating heat.

"Yes," he whispered now.  "Quite a few."

She wrapped her fingers around his erection.  "This is a very, very nice perk."

Cullen chuckled but it cut off into a groan as she ran her hand down along his skin.  She stroked him slowly, carefully, letting the way his muscles tensed and relaxed guide her movement.  

"In fact," she said, "Let me show you exactly how much I adore this perk.  And the rest of you."  She shifted back and rolled Cullen on to his, flipping the covers down to their knees.  The first light was starting to brighten the sky in the distance, but not enough to actually light the room.  There was just a tiny glow of orange from the fireplace but that was enough.  Even if it hadn't, she would have been happy to find he way by touch.

Enfys leaned over him, kissing his mouth, his hand coming up and burying itself in her curls.  She wasn't content in one place for long however, dragging her lips down over his chin, his stubble just long enough to feel soft instead of prickly.  She kissed her way down the column of his neck, between his collarbones and down divot between the muscles in his chest before he seemed to figure out what her plan was.

Cullen took in a long, slow, agonizing breath as her mouth danced its way down his belly.  

"Enfys."  It was a whisper and a plea.  She grinned against his skin, moving lower still.  She didn't stop until she was almost level with her hand again, still wrapped firmly around his cock.  She shifted her face to the side, kissing the superbly soft skin over his hipbone and resting her cheek there, letting her breath ghost over his skin.  Only for a moment she allowed herself to rest before climbing up and straddling his leg, leaning down again.  She glanced up at Cullen to find him watching her intently.  Hungrily.

She leaned down and ran her tongue over the head of his cock, immediately rewarded by the sound he made when she did it.  She did it again, a few agonizingly slow strokes of her tongue before carefully taking him into her mouth.  His hand buried itself in her hair again, but without pressure, just touching her softly.

She loved this.  This was always one of the favorite acts, her tongue tenderly sensitive, taking in the sweet, salt of flesh, the smooth and rough counter play of texture.   It was so intimate, so powerful.  

Cullen made a low noise behind his teeth.  "You feel-" he muttered, only able to maintain half a thought as she flicked her tongue over a sensitive spot.  "Maker's breath, that's incredible."

Enfys focused.  The little sounds he made, the way he couldn't help but tense his leg under her,  the throb of his pulsing cock under her lips.  It was so heady, intoxicating.  She wasn't even sure how much time had passed, just that Cullen's breath became increasingly more ragged, his quiet groans more desperate.

"Maker," he managed.  "Enfys." He used both names with equal reverence.  "I don't ever want you to stop, but if you don't-"  She lifted her mouth away from him only long enough to hush him.  She took him back into her mouth again, slow but then increasing the speed of her movements, her tongue running over that narrow ridge of flesh along the underside of his cock.

Cullen half sat up, propped on an elbow, watching her.  She could see him through her eyelashes, his face full of blinding pleasure, adoration, love.  He closed his eyes then, his head falling back.  He seemed to struggle for words, but failed.  The muscles in his thighs tensed hard and his hips bucked up of the bed involuntarily.

She felt his orgasm begin under her hand, still firm around the base of his cock, throbbing up past the seal of her lips.  He spilled himself her mouth, groaning plaintively.  She just held on, This was what she wanted.  Though her own body still wanted more, it felt more important to only give, to show him, to alleviate those little twinges of jealousy he never mentioned before that she should have known were there.  

She loved him.  She knew how men were.  She could tell him a thousand times; it was more important to show him.

Cullen's breath started to slow, even out and she released him, sliding her body up along his until she was tucked into the crook of his arm.  She looped one leg over him, listening to the still rapid beat of his heart where her cheek lay on his chest.  

"That was-" He groaned slightly.  "I may never be the same again."

She chuckled.  He was dramatic sometimes.  It was adorable.  "I certainly hope not.  I hope you never get any more funny ideas about where I want to be."

He kissed her forehead.  "I'd love to tell you I'll never-"

"I know, Cullen," she said a little sharply, though her tone was warm.  "I know. We're both crazy.  Just...just be happy for now okay?"

He made a contented sound.  "I am," he said, wrapping his arm over her.  "Very."

Enfys curled herself in towards him and closed her eyes.  It wouldn't be long before it was truly daylight so she wanted to soak up as much of this as she could before dawn came.  Cullen seemed to have the same idea, holding her closely.  Parts of her considered trying to talk him into a bit more; she knew he'd reciprocate if she only asked, but there was something a little sweet about the ache of want that still lingered.  It would remind her.  Not that she was likely to forget.  

She closed her eyes.

The palm of her hand itched and she shifted it out from between them to scratch it just as the anchor flared to life wildly in a flash of cold, green fire.  They both jerked back suddenly, Cullen flew to his knees, holding her elbow.  Her hand throbbed and pulsed with magical light.

The anchor tugged at her,  pulled hard enough that Cullen could feel it too.  They both heard that sound then, saw the horror appear in each other's eyes.  It was an odd, reverberating sound, crackling in harmony with itself.  They turned in unison toward the window to see the breach split the clouds, swirling open into the sky.


	11. Stones

All Cullen could do was wait.

It was agonizing.  Despite years of standing watch as a Templar, doing absolutely nothing, he was not patient.  He wanted to  _do_  something.  If only he'd been faster, perhaps he could have...it was a foolish idea.  Enfys would never have allowed him to follow her after Corypheus.  

His only consolation was that he found he trusted those who did follow her.  It was an incredibly bizarre realization.

He didn't know what to make of Solas but he knew he'd do his best to help her.  As she said, he was her friend, her  _hahren_  and Cullen's confused jealousy aside, he knew he'd help Enfys see this through.

And Cole,  _bah_ , if someone would have told him he'd trust a demon to protect the woman he loved he would have thought them mad, but there it was.  Cole was fast and deadly and Solas did seem to be right about him.  He was compassionate more than anything else, despite how dangerous as he was to their enemies.

Cullen insisted Blackwall go with her too.  That felt awful.  He hated Blackwall for more reasons than he could even admit to himself, but Cullen knew in his heart that Blackwall loved her, as broken and defective as that love might be.  He knew that Blackwall would kill himself before he let harm come to her.

It was the closest thing he could do to following her himself.

That was hard enough but when the temple ruins snapped off the ground and lifted into the air, Cullen's heart stopped.  He just waited, watched in mute, impotent silence.  There was nothing he could do.

When the light burst from the top of the temple, a shaft of brilliant green into the sky, Cullen stopped breathing.  The breach slammed shut with an ear shattering explosion of sound.  It was hard to keep his feet under him. When the temple tilted and fell out of the sky like rocks should, his heart felt like it shattered into a thousand fragments.

It wasn't until Blackwall appeared out of the rubble and nodded at him that it felt like he could breathe again.  It took a few more moments until Enfys appeared, Solas behind her.

His heart started beating again.

"Look at you," Dorian said before Cullen could find words, "Still alive, the victorious hero."

Enfys smirked, but it didn't seem entirely sincere.  She glanced back over her shoulder at Solas who hadn't followed her down the ruin of stairs.  Her eyebrows drew down in the middle a little.  

Cullen didn't have eyes for any of them but her, trying to make sure she was okay without saying a word.  He wanted to run to her, take her into his arms but he restrained himself.   He waited.

_Maker's breath, he hated waiting._

"Now what do we do, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked.  She looked exhausted but happy.  Overwhelmed.  They all did.

"Now," Enfys said, a faint smile ghosting across her ash smudged face.  "Now, we go home."

She smiled at that, but still seemed a little sad in a way that Cullen couldn't interpret, but it hurt him, a pang in his chest.  Enfys glanced back over her shoulder at the doorway behind her and Solas was gone.

When she turned back, finally she seemed to see Cullen at least, but there was no joy on her face, only cold, hollow sadness.

Cullen waited; he tried to ignore how his fingertips went numb.

 

***

 

The return to Skyhold should have been a celebration, but that would have to come later.  Now, they were so utterly exhausted with the sudden release of stress, they were quiet, introspective.  They had to stop frequently for rest.  Too often, the sound of sobbing.  They'd lost so many.  People were finally allowing themselves to grieve.

Cullen just did what he did best, organizing things, making sure everything was taken care of.  Normally he would have pushed them harder, but there was finally no need.  

Corypheus was dead.  

_Why didn't he feel better?_

Enfys was too preoccupied for him.  He was sure that was part of it.  She was conferring with Leliana who had already sent some of her scouts back into the field to look for Solas.  They both seemed worried, sad.  Cullen couldn't entirely understand.  He was surprised that Solas stayed as long as he did, frankly.  He was quite clear in his preference for solitude, travel.  He never joined them when they socialized, never celebrated their victories.  Why wouldn't he leave, now that it was over?

Why wasn't she talking to him?

Maker, he was being selfish.  But it was driving him mad.  He knew that once Corypheus was dead that everything would change.  They would need to turn their sights to rebuilding what was destroyed in the fighting.  They'd need to decide if the Inquisition was still needed at all.  

Likely, one of them would be the Divine.  Everything would be different.

Cullen still hoped, he expected, that they would finally be able to be together.  That it could be more than just rumors and gossip.  Maybe he was fooling himself.

He looked away.  There was still work to be done.  If nothing else, he still had a duty, at least until he was told otherwise.  

Cullen went back to work.

 

***

 

"We'll be heading out in the morning, so make sure everything is assembled before you let anyone rest.  We don't want a delay because someone's too hung over to get their armor pieces into the wagon."  Cullen was used to this.  Grown men and women turned into children if he didn't keep after them.

At least he was good at this.  At least this was something he could do, even if he'd not succeeded at...other things.  He hung his confidence on the pommel of his sword, on his reports and his plans.  Soldiers would be just as useful in rebuilding as they were at fighting.  

He would see to it.

"Yes ser."  The man nodded and was off.  Cullen watching him go for a moment before turning back to the map.  Their route to Skyhold was easy enough, but he was already reviewing possible movements for once they returned.  The bulk of the army should have returned from the Arbor Wilds by then, and then he'd have to redeployed them.  

Crestwood and Redcliffe seemed the obvious choices.  If they could get them back into order, the refugees could start rebuilding their lives again outside of Skyhold.  They could spread out, properly train the newest recruits, begin to...

"Cullen?"  His head snapped up at the sound of Enfys's voice.  Probably too quickly.  He mentally chastised himself.  This probably wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

He'd had to admit it to himself, finally.

She never wanted any of this.  Now that her task was done, he imagined she'd just head out to make sure there were no lingering Fade rifts and then she'd be gone.  Back to the Free Marches to find perhaps what was left of her clan, or another clan.  She was raised to lead  _them_  not this motley band.  Or perhaps she was planning on going after Solas herself.  It was impossible to say.

But without Corypheus, she had no reason to stay.

"Yes, Inquisitor?" His voice did not sound as confident as he was intending.

Her brow furrowed.  "Inquisitor?" She frowned.  "Cullen, what's the matter?"

He tried not to sigh.  They were friends, at least, were they not?  They didn't have an audience at the moment.  He wasn't being fair.  He was trying to protect himself from the inevitable perhaps, but that still didn't make it fair.

"No, nothing," he attempted instead.  "You'll have to excuse me.  There's a still a lot of work to be done." He cleared his throat.  "For me," he amended.

She reached out toward him, as if to going to touch him, but then pulled her hand back, like she suddenly thought better of it.  

"Oh," she said, tucking her arm around herself instead.  "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You aren't," he replied. Again so eager.  He was so irritated with himself.  When exactly did he get the idea that what was between them was going to last forever?  Why did her distance hurt so much?  "There's just-" He gestured haphazardly at the map.  "Work."  Work he knew about.  "Trying to determine what's next.  It was easy to know-" He realized what he was about to insinuate, but better to just be done with it.  "-what to do, what was next when we were chasing Corypheus.  Now we need to undo the destruction he created.  It is less obvious how to move forward, or even if we are the right force to do it at all."

He wasn't talking about rebuilding.

Her face was expressionless.  Her eyes, unfathomable.  She didn't say anything for what seemed like forever.  Cullen's ears rang.  

"What are you trying to say, Cullen?"

She was nothing if not direct.  He supposed she wasn't only the Inquisitor because of the anchor.

"I just...I don't know."  He made a face.  "Everything is going to change."

"The only thing I see changing is the cloud of looming death hanging over our heads," she said.  "Beyond that, everyone makes their own choices finally.  Like Solas, who left when the orb was destroyed." She shook her head.  "I wish he would have said goodbye at least."  She swallowed suspiciously.  "Blackwall plans to leave with the remaining Grey Wardens for Val Chevin as soon as we get back.   And, if you haven't heard, they elected Leliana Divine.  She'll leave in a few weeks for Val Royeaux." She sighed.  "Their choices.  That's what will change I suppose.  Is that what you're trying to tell me? Are you...planning on leaving?"

"No."  His voice was confident that time.  Unexpectedly so.  "I did not intend to leave, not unless I was no longer needed."

"That's good to-wait."  She was looking at the ground at first, but her face turned up to look at him, surprised, confused perhaps.  "Do you think I'm going to leave the Inquisition?"  The rest of her question went unsaid, but he heard it.   _Leave you?_

Cullen's heart leapt in his chest.  "I did...wonder.  Now that Corypheus is defeated?  I knew this wasn't what you wanted, not originally.  You fought against it very hard."

" _Cullen._ "  Her hand reached out again, this time less tentatively.  "I'm not leaving anything."  She smiled sadly, one corner of her mouth only.  "Not unless I'm asked to go."

He tried to breathe.  It wasn't easy.  The words that came out were quiet, strained.  "Don't go."

Her hand touched his arm softly.  "Not without you."


End file.
